Somewhere along the way, I picked up the idea that bigger is always better.

I picked it up and carried it with me, spending more time than I’d care to admit reaching for rungs.

We climb ladders and hear applause. We build platforms and receive praise. We joke about doing “all the things,” we hope for hearts and likes, we care about pixelated numbers.

In between all the plates spinning and the struggling to say no, we stick on a badge that says Busy but underneath the layers, behind the drive to do more and be more, is a desire to be seen. To be known. To be loved right now, as is, for who we really are.

I’m using the word “we” here, but let’s be clear: I’m speaking from personal experience.

In a culture that praises busyness and promotes more — always more — I’ve listened to the lie that small equals insignificant, unseen, not enough.

But then a handful of years ago, on a Monday night in Haiti, I stood outside under a canopy of stars, bare feet on the cracked pavement, head tilted back, mouth wide open in wonder. I felt impossibly small, and yet incredibly seen at the very same time. I didn’t know it could be both/and, not either/or.

Two years later, I wrote a book about living, loving, and learning in the in between seasons of life, in the waiting and the wondering. There are words printed on pages that tell the story of His faithfulness and goodness, even in the chapters I never would have chosen. Chapter 5 talks about being both small and seen, and as the book began arriving in mailboxes on release day, I quietly stood at my kitchen sink rinsing a colander full of strawberries, thinking back to that night under the stars.

I heard the words hanging in the air before I realized they came out of my own mouth: This feels right.

It was an ordinary, small, regular moment on an absolutely crazy day, but in the kindest of ways it reminded me of my place.

A few months later, I traveled to Israel. I could write one hundred posts, tell you a thousand stories of all the ways my time there turned what was black and white to living color.

In two weeks, I’ll board a plane and travel back to a place that brought the Bible to life right in front of my eyes. I’ll take pictures, fill up another journal with all the words, and likely over-Instagram Story the entire thing.

I’m not sure I’ll have words when we make it back to the wall, though.

Two years ago, on this journey to finding joy in smallness, I walked along a section of a wall that has stood its ground for 6,000 years. I carefully examined the cracks and crevices of the crumbling rocks. I stared down at my dust-covered feet. I looked up at the seemingly endless stretch of blue sky, clouds perfectly placed like oversized cotton-balls hovering above. I opened my hands in wonder and out of my mouth came these four simple words, followed by laughter: I am so small.

How many hundreds of thousands have walked by, right underneath that same blue sky? How many once settled there, raised their families within its borders, called that same ground their home? And somehow, God has seen each one, heard each beating heart, deeply cared for each soul.

Halfway across the world, He spoke a simple truth that crosses borders and holds fast beneath a velvet night sky, at the kitchen sink, and under bright puffy clouds: Small is a gift, not a punishment.

The greatest Story of all time has been carrying on for several chapters now, and we’re just one dot of ink on the page. He doesn’t need us, yet He chooses us and wants us.

I came face-to-face with my own smallness in light of God’s greatness, and it brought great joy.

We can, and absolutely should, do our best and honor God with what we’ve been given. But we don’t have to chase the next and greatest thing, hurrying and hustling to prove our worth. We are the Already Enough people, the ones who have nothing to prove. Our security rests in Christ’s sacrifice, our confidence in His great love for us, and He extends an invitation to you and to me today:

I see you, Daughter. You are small, but you are not overlooked. You don’t have to be enough, for I AM. Take joy in your smallness, revel in the wonder of My glory and greatness, and stop your striving. Rest in My completed work today, knowing that you are seen and valued, fully known and fully loved, right now, as is.

Today, I’ll accept His invitation. And tomorrow, when I inevitably forget once again, I’ll close the computer and stand outside under the clouds or the stars.

This is my prayer for you, for me, for us. I invite you to pray it with me today:

Lord, I trust that You see me here. I choose today to savor the small and remember that You are more than enough. May I find my place not in rung climbing or numbers, but at Your feet. There is only One worth following and it’s You. I’ve had enough of platforms. I think I’ll build altars instead.